


Unfinished Business

by tarquin



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Character Death, M/M, ghost fic, matching necklace assholes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-01
Updated: 2013-04-01
Packaged: 2017-12-07 03:14:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/743543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarquin/pseuds/tarquin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unfinished Business, that's what they call it when spirits come back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unfinished Business

**Author's Note:**

> so about 3 trillion years ago, (two weeks ago,) someone sent the lovely buttskun a mavin prompt over anon about ghost!gavin visiting michael after dying and michael not being able to see him. i really liked the prompt and decided to try my hand at writing it if only because it struck me so poignantly 
> 
> i dont think i did the prompt justice and im not 100% satisfied but i did work hard on it and i’ve been putting off posting it until now
> 
> but hell, here we go

Unfinished business.

That’s what they call it, usually, when spirits don’t cross over. When they pull back from the warm and welcoming light of the other side and turn around to face the living.

It’s their hearts that lead them back, back to presence and existence, back to thought and sight and senses, all the bothersome things they'd rid themselves of when they’re rid of a heartbeat.

Something keeps them from letting go, something ties them down.

For Gavin, this is Michael.

But Gavin doesn’t think it’s “unfinished business” that brings him back, honestly. He’s got no important messages to pass on, no revenge to exact or no PIN number to a bank off the shore of Sweden. It’s none of that cliché movie stuff but,

But it still brings him back. Because the coroner said that when the truck slid on the ice, when the car flipped and the roof caved in, it was over instantaneously. Painlessly as well, and according to the doctors it can almost be assumed that as soon as he’d felt something wrong with the traction of the wheels he’d been staring down the tunnel, gentle fractures of light guiding him forward, calling him home.

But no closure, no way to say goodbye.

And as tempting as it had been for Gavin to head towards that light, there’d been that nagging thought, that stray thread that didn’t tie in well with the others. Not that closure is something often allotted after death, but more often than not the words at funerals and quiet prayers whispered in the dark do more than enough to quell a restless spirit.

And for Gavin most of these things were felt. He knew somehow that those he loved and those who loved him would miss him and mourn him, but in the end they would be okay. He felt sad to think of them, but the sadness didn’t stick.

It stuck when he thought of Michael. If there was anyone he wanted to say goodbye to, it’d be him.

So when the light called to Gavin and promised him rest he couldn’t go, not while Michael wasn’t all right. Because, and sure, now after death it’s easy to admit, he loved that boy. As a coworker, as a friend, maybe even more, he isn’t sure. But he knows that through Michael he’d had an honest human love, and he can’t press forward when that last loose thread holds him back.

And so, Gavin returns.

 

Returning, as it turns out, is fairly simple. When Gavin turns away from the light he doesn’t have to search, he neither wanders or haunts the town of Austin in search of his lost love. Instead he blinks, and one second he’s hesitating on the cusp of eternity and the next he’s in the threshold of Michael’s apartment. And sure enough there’s a glowing tv in the corner and Michael is hunched over on his couch, mouth set in a firm line.

Gavin’s insides, or where they should be anyway, flutter and warm at the sight of him. His messy auburn hair falls over his glasses and he flicks his head to the side irritably. His leg taps on the ground and the sound of his fingers hitting buttons is familiar and comfortable. It makes Gavin smile, he’s strangely happy he got to see this one more time.

Then the sound of gunshots reach their apex in the small room and the screen goes red. Michael exhales loudly, tossing his controller to his right and breathing in slow, shallow repetitions. Despite his most popular title Gavin knows Michael often leaves his worse fits to be recorded, but tonight he can tell the boy is making an effort to hold it in. Michael’s shoulders are tense, his jaw set, and when he takes a drink from the cup next to him he drinks long and deep.

When Gavin gets closer he gets a sense of something sharp and hardy from the cup, a liquor of some sort, drowned in soda or juice to try and make it sweet.

“Oh, Michael.” Gavin hums. “It’s all right my little boy, it’s all right.”

Michael doesn’t so much as blink when Gavin speaks, but Gavin doesn’t expect him to. He’s not sure how this whole post-death visit works; he only knows what he’s seen on TV when Marley’s ghost visits Scrooge McDuck. He guesses Michael should probably see him soon, when Gavin’s presence becomes stronger and the boy’s thoughts turn to him. Then Gavin should ease in, slowly become apparent to his friend and gently tell him that it’s okay, it’s okay to move on and it’s okay to hurt, and he’s sorry they didn’t get a proper goodbye.

Not too long, not too short.

Finished business.

 

Gavin begins by walking in front of Michael’s tv screen, just to see if it’ll obscure it and make him mad. He chuckles, crossing paths between the remote several times, waiting for Michael to groan or adjust his glasses. But he doesn’t move, focus tight on the screen in front of him. Gavin frowns. Something inside of him squirms. This isn’t right.

When his initial plan fails he opts for plan B, plopping himself down on the couch, one arm tossed around Michael’s shoulder, smiling widely.

“Hey Michael.” He says casually, feather light words drifting towards his ear. But Michael doesn’t respond, not even to the cold weight across his back. His fingers just keep mindlessly shifting over buttons. His mouth moves, but just to mutter words on the screen to himself. Gavin stares at him, stares hard, but the boy shows no signs of realizing he’s not alone.

Gavin huffs. He’s supposed to be saying goodbye to a loved one, not vying for attention with a first person shooter. He crosses his arms and shifts his weight, meaning to knock Michael’s shoulder with his or bump him to attention, anything to make him realize what’s going on. But all the shifting and huffing in the world doesn’t break the boy out of his trance.

Until.

Gavin is just about to try backhanding him, just to see what would happen, when Michael slowly puts down the controller. He turns to his right where Gavin is seated and slowly he looks down.

“Finally,” Gavin breathes. “Listen, Micha-“

Michael pulls the ringing phone out of his pocket. Gavin feels his face fall.

“Hello,” Michael says. His voice is flat. His eyes are traveling up and down where Gavin is sitting but it’s clear he’s not seeing a thing. Gavin wants to shake him.

“Uh, yeah, nothin’s happening. Why?”

“Michael.” Gavin mutters through gritted teeth. “Mi-ichael.” The boy doesn’t respond.

“Tomorrow? Nah, I can’t. Busy.”

A beat.

“No, I’m being serious, I can’t.”

Again.

“Look, I know. But I actually am swamped, I can’t. Maybe next time. Yeah, I know okay, but I can’t make it. Goddamn.”

Michael’s hand curls tight into a fist as he pulls the phone away, ending the call and glaring down at his phone like it's done him wrong. His knuckles start to go white around the poor thing before he drops it on the side table, and then a second later he drops his head into his hand.

“Finally,” Gavin says with a smile, sensing an opening. “Now, Michael, I need you to listen.”

He doesn’t even lift his head and a strangled noise crawls out of Gavin’s throat, something between an indignant cough and an estranged laugh. He starts to bat his hand at Michael’s shoulder, punching him lightly, his voice a strained giggle.

“This isn’t funny Michael, you have to listen to me. I came all this way back here to talk to you.”

Nothing.

“Why aren’t you listening?” He asks the air. “Why won’t you pay attention?”

He brings an irritated fist down on Michael’s shoulder, voice rising to an indignant bark.

“Michael. Michael. Michael!”

His fist vanishes though the boy like vapor and Michael glances towards a window before shrugging and looking away. Gavin feels his insides start to churn again but not in the good way, and all he wants to do is shake Michael by the shoulders and demand he listen, but Michael can’t be bothered to be aware that he’s there.

“Please see me Michael, please listen. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten me already.”

And like a hammer, like a fist to the gut, like sliding on ice and hearing the angriest crunch, it hits him.

That’s why Michael’s thread is hanging. That’s why his door’s not shut. There’s no closure because from Michael’s end there’s nothing to close. To Michael Gavin is an afterthought, not important enough to be remembered, let alone mourned.

And that’s why he can’t see him, or won’t. He doesn’t care.

“Michael.”

The word escapes him, a silent plea. Michael’s hands return to his video game controller and he starts up a new round, completely oblivious. Gavin starts to shake his head and his bones are quivering, and he’s mad and confused and hurt.

“Come on!” He growls, stomping in front of the TV. “That can’t have meant nothing to you! It ‘s not possible.”

Michael shoots a pedestrian on screen.

“Team Nice Dynamite, matching shoes, nothing?”

The gun rattles off bullets. He reloads.

“You’re my boy? I thought.

_I thought,”_

Gavin’s not sure he’s got lungs, but there’s certainly no air in him either way. His lip is quivering and he wonders if this is what people feel when they really want to cry. It’s not welcome and it makes him angry, and he leans in to shout something to Michael’s stupid unresponsive face and when he does he feels the chain around his neck shift ever so slightly.

His heart speeds up.

His hand reaches to clasp around the silly necklace, the one Michael bought for him, the one that goes along with his own.

Gavin doesn’t want to flick his eyes down but he does, and when his suspicions are confirmed he feels his body go despicably hollow. He’s getting swallowed up by it all, the coldness and anger, the regret that he cared enough to turn away from death’s door. His feet draw back from where they’d been so close to Michael’s knees and he shakes his head, the emptiest laugh breaking loose from his chest.

They’d always worn those necklaces around, in the office or when one of them was across an ocean. Their presence and weight was a comfort, something to hold on to and something to smile about. Even after death Gavin wears his.

Michael’s neck is bare.

“I’m sorry, Michael.” Gavin says as the corner of his vision starts the glow. He can see the light again, but this time it feels cold. When it reaches for him he wants to shrink away, but he turns to its outstretched hand. “I’m sorry for wasting your time. I’m sorry for caring and thinking this was important. I’m sorry for being so wrong.”

The light pulls at him, wraps around his hand like he’s a small child. His feet lift.

“You know what.” He says. “Where I’m going, I have a feeling I won’t need this.”

He grasps the cool metal chain and yanks, and it comes off with a soft ‘snap.’ His neck burns from the friction but he doesn’t feel it, doesn’t feel anything as he tosses it on to the couch and turns, stupid tears stinging his eyes and stupid regret nagging his every nerve.

He bites his lip, hating the words that are his last as the light consumes him and takes him home. With a shuddery exhale he lets them fall.

“Goodbye Michael. Love you.”

And then, eternity.

 

\+ x +

 

At three thirty am on a bitter winter evening, Michael Jones drops his X-Box controller on the carpet and lets out a long breath. His eyes are bleary from the drinks he’s had that evening (several) and the matches he’s lost (several more.) His fine motor skills are shot as he tries to stand up and finds the world spinning around him like a top. He falls back heavy on the couch and groans.

Slowly Michael rotates his head, stretching his shoulders and blinking some focus into his eyes. He’s been sitting stoic for hours and, secretly, has been repeating this pattern for days. Not that he minds at all really, and he doesn't think the people at work can tell.

But it’s been hard to get to sleep these past few days (weeks) and playing the same stupid game he’s already 100%’d until he can’t stay awake is his best option. Now he can breathe comfortably knowing he’ll soon fall face first into bed and it’ll only be seconds until sleepy blackness clouds his mind.

If he’s lucky he’s drank more than enough, and won’t remember a single thing he’s dreamt in the morning.

With this comforting thought on his shoulders he tries to get up again, hoisting himself with a grunt and landing unsteadily on two feet. He rights himself, and turns with a yawn towards the bedroom.

That’s when the faux-gold on the couch catches his eye. Coldness seeps into his fingers and toes and he shakes his head just a miniscule amount.

 

Impossible.

 

Im fucking possible.

 

It got lost in the crash. It burnt up like the cheap piece of trash it was, and they didn’t recover it with the body and he wasn’t buried with it. These are facts and he knows them.

But then why, exactly, is Gavin’s creeper necklace barely peeking out between his couch cushions, little black eyes staring through him and making him shake down to his core?

Before he can even think Michael’s got the trinket in his hand, he’s tracing the details with his fingers and chanting that this can’t be happening. That there’s no way Gavin left it behind. There’s no way that this can be real.

But it is. The weight of it in his palm and the cool metal, it’s as real as his own.

He feels the hollow uncurl inside of him. He grits his teeth as soon as he feels it, because he knows from experience that there’s no going back. The anger will come, the hate and the regret, it’ll find him and it will swallow him, even though he’s been fighting for so long.

“Damn it,” He says at the tiny face on the chain. “Damn it! You can’t fucking do this to me. You can’t come back! Not after it finally stopped,” Not after everything finally went numb. “You can’t!”

But it’s too late.

Already water leaks from his eyes, he doesn’t even need to blink, they’re just overflowing. He can see Gavin’s stupid smiling face in his head and he can’t unsee it, and he can’t not burn because Gavin’s fucking gone, and he won’t be back. He can fight it and swallow it, he can try to drink it away but it’s all for naught. He can’t keep Gavin away, the boy refuses to leave him.

He’s crumbling.

Geoff says to call him when he feels this way, like the walls are closing in around him. Burnie says to call him when his breaths are coming too short and his chest starts to hurt. His speed dial goes straight to Ray if he needs to call someone because he’s dizzy, and the world around him doesn’t make sense anymore.

His phone is still on the table and he has no intention of reaching for it.

Instead he marches in a straight line to his room and pulls out his sock drawer.

On the very bottom at the very back is the diamond-emblem on its little chain; thrown back there in a fit of anger because it couldn’t be worn when one half of Team Nice Dynamite was no longer breathing. The weight around his neck was minuscule but the way it caught the light and the fact that it reminded him of Gavin was too much, it felt like it was choking him. And so he'd yanked it off and thrown it where it'd be forgotten. Or at least where he hoped it would be forgotten.

Now he picks it up, feels a weighted relief that it’s not scratched or dented, and presses it in his palm with the other one, and when he does the world shifts into focus, just a little more.

A soft noise makes it out of his throat, not the first stifled huff he's had since they told him the news that sits heavy like an elephant on his chest all the time. Holding the two pendants tightly he sinks on to the edge of his bed, breathing deep. The anger that's been in him for so long is matched now by sadness, and maybe even the tides are turning.

At first he'd been mad at Gavin for dying, as nonsensical as that seemed. But anger had been easier, anger had always been his crutch, and Michael had welcomed it.

Now though he's less mad. That stupid trinket makes him think of all the good things about Gavin, all the things that keep his memories alive but not his skin, and Michael finds he's no longer feeling resentment towards the boy for not being there, but real visceral sadness that he's gone.

All this because of some necklaces.

Michael cries that night, cries in a way that Gavin wouldn’t understand because that freak never cried, not even when Bambi’s mom got shot. He holds himself back so he doesn't reach huge heaving sobs, but he definitely soaks the arm of his sweater through with snot and tears.

And when he’s done crying he does the impossible. Michael tries to laugh.

He laughs at the memories that he doesn’t want to remember of all the times that moron pushed him past breaking and he lashed out, and the two of them ended up wrestling in the office or in pools or in that one bar where they’re not allowed back. He thinks about every time he rolled his eyes at a dumb idea or had to swallow a giggle at a bad joke, and those memories don't burn as much as they used to.

Laughter doesn’t come as easily as tears but it shows up, in short choppy bursts as he traces the pattern of the jewelry he bought as a joke at a convention one time.

The jewelry that ended up meaning more than it was supposed to, and the jewelry that makes his feet feel a little more grounded on earth.

When he’s done laughing and the tears have stopped, Michael reaches for his phone. He hesitates before punching in a number and sending a text that reads simply “I’ll be there.” No explanation, nothing more. And with the hit of the send button Michael feels his eyelids grow heavy.

He curls and falls into a dreamless sleep.

 

\+ x +

 

The next day Michael shows up to the park wearing a pair of jeans, a My Little Pony T-shirt, his beanie, and two necklaces with Minecraft inspired emblems. His eyes are downcast and when he approaches the rest of the people gathered there he expects glares or questioning looks. Instead he finds kindness and warm smiles from people who glance at his chest before they nod and look away.

Friends, coworkers, a few strangers Michael isn't familiar with gather together under a blue sky, soft looks on their faces, some of them like him with red and swollen eyes. Michael realizes as he exchanges pleasantries with them that he fits in well among them, the group of people Gavin left behind.

When Griffon hands him a balloon, he takes it with a smile. 

Later on when Michael lets that balloon go with a heavy smile amongst the others, he’ll send it off with a few unspoken words. Some spoken as well, about how Gavin was a grade A asshole and one of the best people Michael ever knew. But it’ll also go up with an apology and a prayer, that wherever the hell Gavin is now that he knows Michael loved him. That he knows Michael treasured him, and that saying goodbye was something he’d never wanted to do, but it was something that he’d work on.

 

The whispered words would take to the sky with the balloons of the gathered, and they would climb much higher and farther, farther than even Michael could know.

 

And yes, finally, those words would reach eternity. And Michael would have no way to know just how warmly they would be greeted.


End file.
